


The Prince and The Troubadour

by prettyfaroutman



Series: Lovely Little Ficlets 31 Day Challenge [13]
Category: Nothing Much to Do
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-07 20:22:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3181889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyfaroutman/pseuds/prettyfaroutman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pedrazar fairy tale AU, as suggested by tumblr user pedrodonaldson with the following prompt:</p>
<p>"please consider a fairytale au where pedro is the prince who leaves the castle for a day to hobnob with the common people (while in disguise though duh). he meets balthazar and they have an instant connection but tragically their time together is cut short b/c pedro has to book it back to the palace since he’s late for a meeting with some prince stanley? ugh sounds like an asshole"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Once upon a time, on a bright Midsummer day, two princes were born two minutes apart. Their parents, the rulers of the land of Messina, rejoiced in their good fortune, extending the Midsummer revelry a full week in celebration. They prayed to the gods for favor and stability for their sons and their land, and thus named the boys Pedro and John.

Pedro and John were raised to be fair and just, but it quickly became clear that John’s disposition counteracted their parents’ good intentions. When at age 14 they first attended Messina’s militia in a skirmish with a neighboring land, Pedro proved himself in battle, taking up a broad sword and defending his subjects. John, however, betrayed their closest ally’s greatest warrior, Lady Hero the Bold of Waiheke, in an attempt to broker a crooked deal, and she was killed. After that day, Pedro became known as Prince Pedro the Brave, while John the Wicked was exiled out of the land.

Relations with the land of Waiheke had been strained ever since that unfortunate day, as Lady Hero’s people could not believe Prince John had acted alone, and feared another such betrayal. Both lands suffered as a result of this loss of trust, but Pedro felt the loss acutely when his parents, the last remaining people in Messina that Waiheke’s Prince Stanley the Recluse would correspond with, died in a sudden accident. Pedro was left alone to rule Messina and to solve the problem of Waiheke, a 16 year old who had seen more loss than many twice or even thrice his age.

And yet Princes are never alone, even when their family is gone. Pedro had more courage than wisdom, but he was aware of this, and so surrounded himself with the wisest counselors to help him manage the affairs of state. His primary advisor was Sister Ursula, a woman he had chosen from among the monks in the Order of The Cypress Bow, who was renowned for her logic and pragmatism.

Sister Ursula knew that repairing relations with Waiheke was Messina’s best chance to thrive in their ever-shifting political climate, so in concert with the rest of Pedro’s counselors and Prince Stanley’s advisor Leonato, she developed a plan to arrange a marriage between Prince Pedro and Prince Stanley. Sister Ursula was shrewd, however, and knew that Pedro would not be willing to simply toss aside his romantic notions, even for the good of Messina. She thus spent the next few years hinting, suggesting, guiding, until Pedro believed that the idea of an arranged marriage was his own.

Prince Stanley was to arrive two days before the wedding, with a public reception to be held on Midsummer’s Eve, and the wedding ceremony to take place on the morning of Pedro’s 20th birthday. On the morning two days before his birthday, however, Pedro woke in a fever of anxiety. He sought out Sister Ursula as dawn broke over the parapets.

“Sister Ursula, I cannot go through with this wedding. I wish to marry for love.”

“Pedro, you are a Prince. You have a responsibility to your land. I thought we had decided that this was the best course of action.”

“The rumors say that Prince Stanley is distant and cold, Ursula. He never shows his face. How could I live with someone like that?”

“Rumors can be misleading. Perhaps you and Prince Stanley will grow to love each other, in time.”

“But what if there’s someone else, someone I’m meant to meet? How could I live with myself having never taken that chance?”

Sister Ursula sighed. She believed that, more often than not, romantic love was fleeting and unreliable, and therefore a terrible foundation for matrimony, but she had grown close to the Prince and held a soft spot for him in her otherwise practical heart. Perhaps if she agreed to allow him a chance, he could move forward without regrets. “Very well. Prince Stanley is set to arrive this evening, but if you wish, you may spend the day in Messina, searching for someone you might marry for love. But will you promise me that if you fail to find this person by day’s end, you will return this evening and make good on your plans?”

“I promise.”

And so it was that Prince Pedro found himself dressed in the clothes of his hostler, wandering through the great town square the day before Midsummer’s Eve. In all the times he’d come through the square in the past, he’d always been on horseback or in a carriage, surrounded by guards and citizens scraping to show him respect. On foot and in disguise, everything seemed louder, closer, more pungent. Squads of burly men and women worked to erect the decorations for the following day’s festivities. Vendors cried out, hawking their wares, baskets and flowers, textiles and pottery, food so spicy the smell made Pedro’s eyes water.

In the midst of this chaotic mess of humanity, he realized that nothing in his life had prepared him for a search for love, apart from the many books on the subject he had found in his parents’ library and promptly devoured. These books all spoke of a moment when a person is struck by love, though whether physically or mentally struck, Pedro wasn’t sure. He decided to stroll through the market and examine each person he saw, waiting to see if any of them struck him.

As luck would have it, one did — she struck him on the ear.

“Get your dung-covered boot off my silks, you prat!” He looked up at a woman with milky skin and raven hair, and a soft accent that he recognized as Waiheken. Her cart was covered in silks of many vivid colors, as well as several varieties of kohl and rouge. Could this be the person he was meant to be with? “Move along, if you’re not buying. Get!”

Perhaps not.

His next stop was a tavern called The Bird and The Beast, which stood on the busiest corner of the square. He thought he remembered that some of the books mentioned love blossoming in taverns, though he wasn’t quite sure why a tavern would be different to any other place. A small bell tinkled as he stepped through the door into a close room with steam clouding the mirror behind the bar.

“And a good Midsummer’s Eve-Eve to you, sir,” the lanky barkeep greeted him with an exaggerated bow. Or, as he realized after a brief moment, one of the barkeeps.

“Will that joke never get old for you?” the woman with golden hair responded. “You’re scaring the poor boy out of his wits. Look at that face!”

“It’s a nice face, I think,” said the first barkeep.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t nice. I said you’re scaring him!”

Pedro blushed, first because both the man and the woman were eyeing him in a way that made him feel uncomfortable in his gut — was this what it felt like to be struck by love? — and second because he realized that allowing almost any Messinan to examine his face too closely would result in the loss of his disguise. He pulled at his hair, trying to cover an eye.

“Don’t listen to her,” the man said. “You’ve nothing to worry about here, friend. What can I get you?”

“I’d like…an ale, please.”

“Coming right up. Say, Beatrice, how many folks is that today that you claimed were scared by me that ended up ordering my famous ale?”

“It’s only because they’re all here from out of town for the reception tomorrow. All the locals know better by now.”

“Of course. It has nothing to do with the fact that I brew the tastiest ale this side of the valley. You here for the reception too, friend?” He slid the ale across the scarred wood of the bar into Pedro’s hand.

“M-maybe. It depends.”

“On what?” the woman asked, leaning over the bar next to the man.

Pedro didn’t respond, but the man seemed to understand. “No, no, let me guess. Flushed cheeks, mussed hair, eager face…he’s in love.”

“You think?” the woman asked.

“Definitely. Get out while you can, friend! Love will get you nowhere.” The woman groaned and returned to organizing the flagons on the shelf, while the man continued in a lower voice. “But if you’re in it to stay, of course you’d want to skip the spectacle to spend time with your sweetheart. Am I right? Are you in love?”

“N-not exactly,” Pedro stammered. “Not yet.”

“Not yet?” The man threw back his head and laughed a ridiculous laugh. “Beatrice, did you hear that?”

“Leave him alone, Benedick.”

Pedro finished half his ale in a long gulp, keen to escape this strange man.

“Let me just give you one piece of advice,” the man said. “Don’t look for it. I can see that that’s what you’re doing, but you’re doing it wrong. Don’t look for it. It will find you. Trust me.” The man glanced at the woman with the golden hair, then winked at Pedro and stood up to wish the next person a good Midsummer’s Eve-Eve.

Pedro frowned as he finished his ale, contemplating the man’s advice. How was he to expect love to find him without looking if he only had a few hours left?

A flash of light in the steamy mirror behind the bar caught Pedro’s eye as he was standing up to leave. His eyes dazzled for a moment, then he turned to see what the strange light had come from.

Outside the window, standing on the cobblestones cater-corner to the tavern, was a troubadour bearing a lute with glossy metal pegs glinting in the sunlight.


	2. Chapter 2

The troubadour looked like what Pedro imagined elves to be like in the fairy stories his parents had read to him as a boy. _Is he a real person? Could he actually be an elf?_ Pedro wondered. But he conceded that something of the troubadour must be real, as the strains of his voice and lute filtered through the open windows like motes on the breeze, though Pedro hadn’t noticed until that moment.

But the thing that most intrigued Pedro was the troubadour’s hair. He had never seen such trichomancy! The Prince was ashamed to remember the days that he’d dabbled in that ignoble magic, but it was a field that had always intrigued him. If nothing else, Pedro resolved, he had to ask the troubadour his secret. If he turned out to be real, that is.

Pedro turned back to the barkeep. “Excuse me? Do you know who that troubadour is?”

The man peered out the window, then smiled all-teeth at Pedro. “So it found you already, eh? You could do worse. You could do a lot better, though. Just so happens that troubadour is here with Prince Stanley’s entourage, or so he said this morning.”

“The Prince is here? Already?” Pedro’s heart sank.

The woman with the golden hair sashayed back over. “Word on the street is that Prince Stanley sent his advisors and his bard ahead of him by almost a day. Wants to scope the place out. Or maybe just arrive under cover of darkness so no one sees his hideously scarred face.”

“That’s hardly fair, Beatrice,” the man said. “If that’s the one that turns out to be true, won’t you feel horrible for mocking him? I prefer the agoraphobia theory.”

“Oh, because that’s a better thing to mock someone about? Well done, Benedick.”

The man turned back to Pedro. “In any case, he won’t be here beyond Midsummer’s Day, friend. If you’re going to let him find you, you better do it. Gather ye rosebuds and all that hogwash.”

“It’s not that. It’s his hair,” Pedro said foolishly.

At that, the woman and the man laughed together uproariously. Pedro turned and fled the tavern, hoping never to get caught between those two again.

Once in the square, Pedro was able to make out the words that the troubadour sang:

_Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,_   
_Men were deceivers ever,_   
_One foot in sea, and one on shore,_   
_To one thing constant never._   
_But sigh not so, and let them go,_   
_And be you blithe and bonny,_   
_Converting all your sounds of woe_   
_Into ‘hey, nonny, nonny.’_

Pedro wended through the busy square toward the troubadour, who had just finished his song and was chatting with a nearby vendor when Pedro reached him. The troubadour turned to face him just as Pedro approached, as if he knew Pedro was there without seeing him ( _elf magic?_ ), and Pedro was momentarily struck dumb. The troubadour smiled, waiting for Pedro to speak.

“Do…um…” Pedro faltered. He had little practice speaking to people he hadn’t already known his whole life, let alone people who might not be real people at all. “Don’t you think that verse is a bit outdated?” This was not at all what he meant to say. He shut his eyes, feeling foolish.

“You mean assuming men to be a certain way? Or presuming that ladies would care how men act? Yes, I suppose so. Most people don’t mention it, though.” He raised an amused eyebrow at Pedro. The gentle slant of the troubadour’s Waiheken accent and the way his eyebrow seemed to move independently from his face reinforced Pedro’s impression of magical unreality.

“My apologies, troubadour. Of course I meant no offense. The song is lovely.”

The troubadour bowed graciously. “I am here to serve.”

“I did want to ask, though. How do you…how do you come to be here?” This wasn’t what Pedro had meant to say, either. He cursed his tongue for disobeying him.

“How do I come to be here? Or how do I come to be _here_?” The troubadour gestured first at the square, and then at himself. Pedro noticed his outfit for the first time, which indeed bore the royal colors of Waiheke, indigo and gamboge.

“Either? Both?”

The troubadour held Pedro’s gaze silently for a moment, as if assessing him. Pedro trembled, suddenly more anxious than he’d ever felt facing a sparring partner or a foreign diplomat. Had the troubadour cast a spell of fear on him?

But then he smiled and answered Pedro’s question. “I am here,” he said, waving an arm to the square, “as one of the royal attendants of Prince Stanley of Waiheke. But I am here,” lowering his already soft voice and gesturing to himself, “because I love music, and there is nothing more in all the world that I wish to spend my time on. My greatest joy in this life is to share my music with people like you.”

Pedro blushed. “People like me?”

“Yes. People willing to take a moment out of their day to simply listen. Even if the verse is unfashionable.” The troubadour worked his eyebrow magic again.

“Unfortunately, this may be the only day of my life that I’m able to do that,” Pedro said, his tongue once again running away without him.

“Really? Are you so burdened with responsibilities that you can’t spare a moment for a song each day?”

“Actually…yes. Especially because in two days…well, never mind.” At least Pedro was able to keep his tongue in check long enough to conceal his identity.

“I do truly feel sorry for you, then,” the troubadour replied, his eyes softening. “I was once that way as well, when I was young. My parents did not approve of my artistic inclinations. There are people who tell me still that I spend too much time at it, that I should heed my other responsibilities, but…”

Pedro examined the troubadour, who had trailed off, looking sad. It was the first moment that he appeared truly human to Pedro.

And finally Pedro realized that this troubadour was no more fairy or elf than Pedro was. The troubadour simply exuded the magic of love, and kindled a sympathetic magic in Pedro’s breast. Pedro had indeed been struck by love, and had mistaken it for magic of a more arcane variety.

His mind immediately conjured visions of bringing this troubadour back to the palace with him, of long lazy days listening to the troubadour play just for him, of cold cozy nights curled up in bed with his troubadour, and his heart soared.

And then he had a vision of Prince Stanley, the faceless recluse, and how angry he would be if Pedro snubbed him for one of his servants. Sister Ursula’s voice rose in his mind, urging him to make the right choice for Messina.

She had said that if he found someone to marry for love, however…

The Midsummer sun crept inexorably across the sky, casting longer and longer shadows over the square, and Pedro the Brave realized that this would be his only opportunity to take this chance.

“I must tell you something,” he said to the troubadour. “When I came to the square today, I was looking for something. And I believe now I have found it. Troubadour, I…” Their eyes met, and Pedro found he couldn’t say the words. Curse his traitorous tongue!

Suddenly a team of horses draped in indigo and gamboge and pulling a matching carriage scattered the crowd in the square. The carriage bore a name calligraphed on its side — Balthazar the Mighty. The driver of the carriage hopped off her perch and whistled a signal to the troubadour, who glanced at her briefly before returned his eyes to Pedro’s gaze.

“I must go,” the troubadour said slowly, reluctantly. “The Prince approaches. But from the bottom of my heart…”

“Yes?”

“I wish you luck with your burden. May the gods grant you a place for music in your life.”

“Troubadour, wait!”

“I must go.”

Another carriage drew up behind the first, more opulent and bearing the Waiheken royal seal in place of the lettering, and Pedro knew that his day, and his chance, had drawn to a close.


	3. Chapter 3

Pedro hurried back to the palace as quickly as possible through the growing throng of people flocking to catch a glimpse of the mysterious Prince Stanley. His mind and body were still aflame with the feelings that the troubadour — “Balthazar,” Pedro muttered, testing the name in his mouth — had conjured in him. Pedro shoved aside any thought of matrimony with Prince Stanley, his mind intent on one thing only — to tell Sister Ursula of his love.

Predictably, Sister Ursula was none too happy to hear of this development. She had been convinced that Pedro would fail in his task, as from her own experience love was difficult to find and nearly impossible to keep. Pedro rhapsodized at length about the troubadour’s qualities, while she mentally reviewed her options. When he finished, waiting breathlessly to hear her reaction to his news, her words were thoughtful and deliberate.

“You have told me much of your feelings, but nothing of what was exchanged between you. Did you tell this troubadour of your love?”

“I…well, no. I tried! But—“

“And did he speak anything of his feelings to you?”

“Not precisely, but his eyes—“

“Did he _speak_ of his feelings?”

“No.”

Sister Ursula nodded sagely, relief flowering in her breast. “So you have nothing on which to base an expectation of his requiting your love.”

Pedro hung his head. “It felt as though…but perhaps you’re right…”

“I am truly sorry, Pedro,” she said gently, and she was. “But there’s simply no way we can cancel the wedding over such an uncertainty.”

Suddenly Pedro brightened. “But he is a part of the Prince’s entourage! He will have come to the palace by now! Can I not seek him out and ask him?”

“Let me speak to him. For the moment, he is unaware of your true identity, and he may be frightened to learn of it suddenly. In the meantime, let us go ahead with the reception tomorrow. We mustn’t draw attention to your change of heart. If any adjustment is to be accomplished, it must be done in private, not flung across the Midsummer’s Eve festival for all the land to see.”

“Very well. But you must tell him what I told you, of the magic I feel! My heart, Ursula! My heart! You must tell him!”

Sister Ursula nodded wordlessly, hiding her eyes and stepping away quickly. The part of her that had loved once silently chided her, but she knew she acted in the service of both Messina and Waiheke, and so ignored her small misgivings.

Prince Pedro spent the night tossing and turning, and when Midsummer’s Eve dawned, he felt ready to deal with last minute preparations he had neglected the day before, knowing that by day’s end Balthazar would know of his feelings. While walking to his chambers for a morning meeting with his advisors, a scuffle of sound in the courtyard caught his attention, and when he peered out he saw a company of Waiheken guards riding out to the main road. Pedro turned to the closest person he could find.

“You there! Guard! Why are Prince Stanley’s guards leaving?”

“By your leaves, Your Grace, Prince Stanley has ordered his ensemble to retread. He spoke most highly of our abilities — the Guard of Messina, that is, you see, and so he no longer resuscitates his own.”

Pedro furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of the unusual guard. “Do any among his entourage remain?”

“By your leaves, Your Grace, only the Prince, his fool, and a single handmaiden.”

“His fool?”

“By your leaves, Your Grace, my mum raised me to believe in the wisdom of hard labor, therefore to carry something so light as a tune, a person must be a fool.”

Pedro sighed in relief. “You mean his troubadour, then?”

“By your leaves, Your Grace, the very one.”

“Thank you, Guard.”

The guard bowed deeply. “By your leaves, Your Grace.”

Pedro continued with his preparations, allowing his attendants to dress him in his finest robes of viridian and cream. He longed to ask Sister Ursula whether she had spoken with Balthazar, and what he had said, and how they might proceed with Waiheke now that the wedding was in question, but he hadn’t seen her at all since the meeting that morning. In the moments just before he was to appear at the public reception, however, she appeared at his elbow.

“Ursula! What news? Have you spoken with Balthazar?”

“I have,” she lied. “I am so very sorry, my Prince, but he does not requite your feelings.”

Pedro felt as though she had dealt him a physical blow. He took a moment before asking, “Did you tell him of my feelings? Of the magic?”

“I did.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said he was sorry to cause anyone pain, but that music can often create a false glamour, and that he remembered you only as he remembers any other listener.”

_Any other listener._ The words stabbed at his poor hopeful heart. His head fell into his hands.

“Your Grace? Pedro?” she asked softly. “Do you need a moment before we enter the reception?”

Pedro took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders. “No. I will do my duty, as I must. Thank you, Sister Ursula. Your counsel has been invaluable.”

Sister Ursula nodded, then slipped into the reception before the official announcement of the two Princes was to occur.

The trumpeters blew their fanfare as Prince Pedro took his place behind the curtain. When the curtain opened, he strode into the courtyard, taking his place at the high table next to Sister Ursula. Another fanfare blew, and a curtain on the opposite end of the courtyard opened. The three-person party entered: Balthazar leading the way, lute in hand; Prince Stanley, wearing rich indigo robes and a golden circlet, and a practically-dressed handmaiden bringing up the rear of the party. Contrary to rumors, Prince Stanley was far from disfigured. He had close-clipped hair, an aquiline nose, and a pale complexion, presumably resulting from his reclusion. All the eyes of the curious assembly were fixed on the enigmatic Prince Stanley.

All except for Pedro’s. As soon as Balthazar entered, Pedro could not take his eyes off the troubadour, who walked regally, but was without the magical smile that had defined his features the day before. As the party approached the high table, Balthazar chanced to look up at Pedro, and his jaw dropped. Pedro’s heart began to flutter at the intensity of their eye contact, but he remembered the crushing words Sister Ursula had passed on, and dropped his eyes, knowing that unrequited love could only distract him from his duties as ruler of Messina.

As Prince Stanley and the handmaiden took their places at the other end of the high table, Balthazar approached Pedro, bowing deeply and speaking the standard greeting. “Your Grace, our party from Waiheke thanks you for your generosity, and humbly requests a place at your table.”

Pedro nodded, avoiding the troubadour’s eyes. Sister Ursula elbowed him in the side, and he realized that he’d failed to give the appropriate response. “Messina welcomes you to our table. Our friends are our family,” he said, projecting as well as he could manage, though those at the back of the courtyard began to whisper about whether Prince Pedro was quite alright this evening.

Once Balthazar took his place at the other end of the table, out of sight, Pedro was able to carry on with the ceremony as they had planned, focusing only on what was before him, until the exchanging of gifts. Prince Stanley’s handmaiden had ducked into the hall and returned with a basket of fruits and meats, and one of Pedro’s guards had presented Prince Stanley with a cedar chest and several bolts of the finest local textiles. Everyone was prepared to move onto the next portion of the reception, until the troubadour rose out of his seat and began tuning his lute.

“Prince Stanley has one more gift for you, Your Grace.”

“Balthazar,” Prince Stanley hissed, “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“This is perhaps the most important gift of the evening, Your Grace,” Balthazar continued, ignoring the Waiheken Prince and focusing his attention intently on Pedro. “Prince Stanley believes that everyone deserves a place for music in their lives, and so would like to present you with a song for the occasion.”

Prince Stanley half stood to stop the troubadour, but when Balthazar began to play, he sat again, resigned to the inevitability. Pedro failed to notice this, however, as he was transfixed by Balthazar’s deep blue eyes and magical smile, which had returned with more sparkle even than the previous day.

When Balthazar began to sing, Pedro’s heart nearly stopped. It was an Ode to Prince Pedro, an unapologetic love song if ever he had heard one. The words were cleverly twisted so that the identity of the admirer was ambiguous, but with the light shining out of Balthazar’s eyes, Pedro could no more doubt the meaning than he could doubt his own eyes and ears. There was no way the man sitting in Prince Stanley’s chair had had anything to do with this gift.

When the song ended, the final notes of the lute rang through the balustrades around the courtyard. Presumably the assembly applauded, but Pedro didn’t hear it if they did, as blood coursed loudly through his ears. He knew in that moment, requited or not, his love for Balthazar would prevent him from ever being happy with Prince Stanley. He slowly got to his feet, never breaking eye contact with the troubadour.

“Thank you for that wonderful gift,” he declared, his voice now reaching the back rows. “I accept it gladly. However, I’m sorry to say that I must return the rest of these gifts, as I cannot marry Prince Stanley. I love another.”

A gasp rose up from the crowd. Sister Ursula tugged at Pedro’s robes, but he ignored her. He forced himself to look away from Balthazar, and turned to face Prince Stanley.

“I apologize most humbly, Prince Stanley, but I am in love with your troubadour. I know I should have spoken with you earlier, but I was afraid. I can see now that staying silent was a far worse mistake than risking your displeasure. If there is anything I can do to rectify this, I am at your service.”

“Prince Pedro!” Balthazar called, jogging up to the table. “There’s no need to cancel the wedding.”

“I must. Even if you do not return my love, I cannot marry another.”

“But you don’t understand! I am Prince Stanley. I’ve been in disguise. I apologize for the deception, but like you, I was hesitant to marry without love. But I have fallen for you as well, and I would love nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Pedro stared at Balthazar, an ecstatic smile growing on his face. His heart felt as though it no longer fit inside his breast. He reached his hand out, but just as Balthazar went to take it, the man in the Prince’s chair stood.

“This man is a liar and a usurper!” he bellowed. “I am the true Prince Stanley. Guards! Arrest this imposter!”

The two guards closest to the table obediently reached out to seize Balthazar’s arms, pulling him away from the table.

“No!” Balthazar cried. “Robert! What are you doing? I thought we had an agreement!”

The man who had been in Prince Stanley’s chair turned to Pedro. “Your Grace, I’m sorry to tell you that this man cannot be trusted. Perhaps, given a mourning period, you might reconsider the marriage?”

“Robert! No!”

“Who is this Robert, then, if not you?” Pedro asked suspiciously.

“The troubadour, of course. His stage name is Balthazar, but his real name is Robert Borachio. Ask my handmaiden. Cora, tell the Prince who is who.”

The handmaiden shuffled forward. “Truly, Your Grace, the troubadour is Robert Borachio, not the Prince.”

“Don’t listen to them, Pedro! _His_ name is Robert Borachio! I am the Prince!”

“Just a moment,” Sister Ursula said, approaching the Princes. Pedro stepped back, noticing for the first time that the crowd had begun to murmur restlessly. “Are there no others besides this handmaiden who can corroborate your identities?”

“My word and that of my handmaiden ought to be enough, I should think,” the man who’d been in the Prince’s chair responded haughtily.

Sister Ursula looked to Balthazar. “Is there anyone who can speak on your behalf?”

“My guard knows me. Any of them can confirm my identity.”

“Ah, by your leaves, Sister Ursula,” the guard on Balthazar’s right arm interjected, “The Waiheken guard have all retreaded this morning. They’re no longer here to testimony.”

“Robert! Why are you doing this?” The pain in Balthazar’s voice struck Pedro to the core, and he realized that it was his responsibility as Prince to sort this out.

“Enough!” Pedro cried. “Until we can find someone to testify to your identities, all three of you will be confined to your quarters. Guards! Escort our three guests back to their rooms. They’re not to leave without my explicit permission. Sister Ursula, we must find someone who has seen Prince Stanley before.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for today is Shopping, and while I did incorporate that briefly into the story, the chapter break made more sense before that bit happens, so if you want to consider this as Song part 2, you can do that :D


	4. Chapter 4

The reception devolved into chaos as the Guard of Messina escorted the three Waiheken guests away. Prince Pedro retreated to the closest private room with Sister Ursula, his heart pounding.

“Ursula, he must be the prince. He _must_ be!” Pedro exclaimed as she shut the door behind them.

“Unfortunately, we don’t know that.”

“He wouldn’t lie. I know he wouldn’t.”

“Pedro, you just met the man yesterday. How do you know?”

“I just do,” Pedro said, though he knew there was no logic to it. He paced restlessly around the small room. “But if we can’t believe him, then what are we to do?”

“You said it yourself. We must find someone, an unbiased person, who has seen Prince Stanley in an official capacity and can identify him without coercion.”

“And where are we to find such a person? Has Prince Stanley ever made a public appearance at all? And even if he had, who in Messina would have been there? It would take weeks to retrieve someone from Waiheke. We cannot keep the Prince captive that long, no matter which one he is.”

Pedro’s voice was frantic, but Sister Ursula kept a cool head. “We’ll simply have to search for residents of Messina who have spent time in Waiheke and hope for the best. If that doesn’t work, we can reassess. Would you like me to take care of that for you?”

“Yes, thank you, Sis—wait, no! You told me Balthazar did not return my feelings! Why did you lie to me?”

Sister Ursula paused and sank into a chair. “I was acting in the interests of Messina, Your Grace. I apologize for the deception, but strengthening our Waiheken alliance is crucial. You must know that!” She paused, then continued more quietly, “Pedro, I sympathize with your feelings, and I am very sorry. But Messina’s security must be our top priority.”

Pedro sighed, unsure whether he was ready to forgive his advisor. “Well, now that this has happened, there will certainly be a scandal. I’m not sure the bond is reparable, so your lie may have been for naught.”

Ursula stood again, regaining her cool confidence. “We shall address that if we must. For now, we must find a Waiheken in Messina.”

Pedro allowed Sister Ursula to send four squads of the guard to the four quadrants of the city to gather anyone who had lived or done business in Waiheke in the last decade. Meanwhile, he sought out Balthazar’s room to speak with him. The guards gave him a wary look as he stepped through the door, but said nothing.

“Pedro!” Balthazar ran to him, clasping Pedro’s soft hands in his callused ones. “You must believe me!”

“Of course I believe you,” Pedro said, trying to remain calm but inwardly thrilling at his touch. “I just want to know what else you know that might help us confirm your identity. I’m sure you understand why we need to prove it.”

“Yes, yes,” Balthazar said, looking visibly relieved. “I fear that might not be easy without my guard, though. I’ve only ever made a single public appearance as the Prince, which was at my coronation ten years ago. I was but a child then.”

“Why have you remained hidden for so long?” It was the question that Pedro had wondered for years, ever since a marriage between them had been suggested as a possible political tactic. Face to face with his troubadour — his Prince — however, the asking of it felt strangely anticlimactic, for his heart no longer cared one way or the other.

Balthazar drew Pedro further into the room, taking a seat at the small table and pulling a chair out for Pedro as well. “I was not born to be a Prince. My parents were the rulers of Waiheke, so I had no choice, but politics is not in my nature. I think I spoke to you of this a bit yesterday…”

“Yes, of course! Though I didn’t understand what you meant at the time.”

Balthazar nodded. “Though my parents refused to let me abdicate, they allowed me to operate at a distance, and I stretched that privilege to the extreme. Robert and Leonato took care of the vast majority of what should have been my responsibility, while I spent my days absorbed in music. When my parents passed away, I continued in what had become my habit, and my advisors never questioned it, so nothing changed. If anything, I’ve done even less governing now that they’re gone.”

“So why did you agree to this marriage if you didn’t want to be a ruler?” Pedro’s throat felt tight asking this question; a part of him worried that Balthazar might change his mind.

Balthazar gave him a sad smile. “I came in disguise because it had been my plan to allow Robert to become Prince Stanley in a land where he wasn’t known, and to live out the rest of my days as Balthazar the Mighty, simple troubadour. Not the most honorable idea, I’ll admit. But I had one stipulation, which was that if I decided I wanted to marry you, we would reveal the disguise, and he would return to Waiheke. My song was the signal to him that I had made that decision.”

“Oh. So the song was…for him? To tell him that you—“

“Pedro.” Balthazar took Pedro’s face in his hands. He lowered his voice, putting weight into every word. “The song was for you.”

Pedro’s breath caught. He could feel the magic shimmering around their heads and out into his limbs as they leaned in, their lips meeting in a tender kiss. Nothing in his parents’ library could have prepared him for this feeling, as though his heart held a vast untapped source that had suddenly sprung to the surface and begun gushing out of every pore. He could have stayed there forever with Balthazar, hands in each others’ magical hair, and forgotten Robert, forgotten Ursula and his advisors, forgotten Messina entirely, if there hadn’t been a crisp knock at the door.

He pulled away and cleared his throat as Balthazar called, “Come in.”

Sister Ursula swept into the room. “Prince Pedro, the guard has gathered a group of three people who attended Prince Stanley’s coronation and may be able to identify him. We must figure out how to proceed. Come.”

“Surely we can do that here, right now…”

“Your Grace.” Pedro recognized her tone of voice, and obediently rose from his chair.

“Balthazar, I…”

Sister Ursula spoke up when Pedro’s words failed. “We will retrieve you when you’re needed.” Balthazar nodded silently, and Sister Ursula pulled Pedro deftly out of the room.

The guard held the three people in Pedro’s chambers as he and Sister Ursula entered. They were gossiping in looks and murmurs, and failed to notice his entrance until the guard stood at attention and saluted. “Your Grace.”

“Thank you for attending the palace this evening,” Pedro said to the three citizens. They turned, and Pedro immediately recognized one of them, the raven haired woman whose silks he had stepped on in the market. “I understand that all of you attended Prince Stanley’s coronation. Are you willing to help?” They all nodded, though the raven haired woman flushed in embarrassment.

Once the logistics were sorted, the guard summoned Balthazar and the man in the Prince’s clothes, placing them in adjoining antechambers. One by one, they brought the citizens through to see first Balthazar, then the other man. The first could not be sure, but thought that the man in the Prince’s clothes looked like he might be the same as the boy she had seen many years ago. The second hemmed and hawed, declaring that he was quite possibly convinced that Balthazar was the boy, but that he would not have recognized him otherwise.

The third, the raven haired woman who had given her name as Margaret, stepped into the chamber with Balthazar. Pedro stood next to her, and heard her mutter under her breath, “maybe?” His heart sank. He wanted to rush to Balthazar’s side, to run away with him, so that they would never have to worry about this again. But heeding his duty, he followed Margaret into the chamber with the other man.

As soon as she stepped foot in the chamber, she flew into a frenzy, limbs careening towards him. “Robert Borachio! You scoundrel! How dare you!” She struck him in the face before the guards were able to intervene, pulling her away from the man wearing Prince Stanley’s robes.

“Margaret…?” Pedro ventured.

“Your Grace, this is the imposter. He’s a rogue! Don’t trust a single word he says!”

“Margaret, thank you for your service this evening,” Sister Ursula said, stepping in. “I assure you, Robert Borachio will face punishment for his fraud. You have assisted Messina and Waiheke tonight.”

As the guards began pulling Robert out of the room to his loud protests, Margaret watched him go, a satisfied smile spreading across her face. She turned back to Pedro and Ursula and curtseyed deeply. “Your Grace, I am grateful to you for allowing me the opportunity to expose this villain. If you like, when you next shop at the market, visit my cart and you can choose from among any of my silks or kohls for your new groom, gratis. Provided you don’t step on them this time.” She smiled cheekily, and Pedro couldn’t help but laugh as Margaret sashayed out of the antechamber.

When she’d left, Pedro moved to return to Balthazar, but Ursula put a hand on his arm. “Pedro, I know this is wonderful news for you, but before you allow yourself to be distracted, it’s imperative that you deal with Robert and Cora. Will you allow me to see Balth—I mean, Prince Stanley, back to his chambers?” When the Prince responded only with a suspicious gaze, Sister Ursula did something she had rarely done — she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and lay her head against his. “Please forgive me. I’ll never deceive you again,” she whispered.

Pedro nodded slowly, then pulled back, holding her shoulders. “Sister Ursula, you’re one of my oldest friends. I rely on you, and I’ll need you more than ever now that things are changing. Please don’t let me down.”

“I shan’t. You have my word.” She gave him a small smile, which he returned, then glided into the adjoining room.

Pedro gathered his wits, then went to deal with the Robert and Cora. The odd guard from earlier, and her partner, who was if anything more odd, had been assigned to keep them in custody. It took some time to sort through the confusion, but eventually Pedro communicated the situation, and the guards escorted Robert and Cora to the gaol just outside the palace.

Upon searching their guest chambers, the guards discovered a letter to Robert Borachio from Pedro’s brother, John the Wicked. It contained a large sum of money, and the promise that once Robert exposed Pedro’s marriage to a fraudulent Prince and John was reinstated as Prince and ruler of Messina, Robert would be rewarded with a pardon and a much larger sum, enough to live in luxury for the remainder of his days.

When the guards showed Pedro the letter, he forgot about Balthazar for the first time that day. Red rose behind his eyes, and he stormed out of the room to find Sister Ursula. She had returned to his royal chambers, and was sorting through a stack of parchment when he burst in.

“When you first left the Order to join my staff, I recall you saying you may be able to deal with my brother if he ever resurfaced. Do you still have that ability?” He struggled to remain calm, his breath coming hot and fast.

For once, Sister Ursula was caught off guard. Her mouth fell open, and as she processed the news her eyes grew restless and liquid. It took her several long moments to compose herself before she was able to reply. “I believe I can, yes. I haven’t spoken with Brother Claudio in years, but I shall write to him now. He will know how to proceed.” She began rifling through the parchment searching for a blank sheaf.

“What must I do?”

Sister Ursula gave him a weary smile. “You must get married in the morning! Let me handle this. Your brother cannot interfere with your wedding now that everything has been set right.”

Pedro hesitated, then nodded. “If you’re sure.”

“Absolutely. Your love is precious — cherish it. Celebrate it.” A single tear slipped down her cheek. “That’s the most important thing for you to focus on now.”

“Ursula?”

“Go. Please.”

“Very well.”

A heavy summer shower fell that night, but when Pedro woke on the morning of his 20th birthday, the sun had burnt off the remnants of the rain. He leapt out of bed, eager to get on with the day. His preparations — a small repast, a warm bath in his deep copper basin, and a small covert trichomancy charm he’d nearly perfected, before his attendants dressed him — flew by in a wink. He had no time to consider nerves until he approached the royal chapel, but as the spire loomed into view, the reality of the situation stirred restlessly in his gut. He was to marry his love today — what a strange, exhilarating, terrifying turn of events! He felt as though he had lived an entire lifetime in the last two days.

When he entered the chapel, his eyes immediately sought out Balthazar (Pedro could not connect his love to the name Prince Stanley), who approached the dais from the opposite end of the chapel. As was customary for royal weddings, they had dressed in each other’s colors, and seeing Balthazar robed in cream and viridian nearly took the wind out of Pedro’s lungs. Balthazar caught his eye as they neared the dais and smiled. Pedro’s return smile felt as though it might split his face in two.

They joined hands, and time seemed to speed up, so Pedro was almost startled when the attendant spoke the final words of the ceremony: “You may now kiss the Prince.” For the second time in as many days, Pedro kissed Balthazar. Propriety dictated that the kiss should be brief and chaste, but the Princes’ ardor knew nothing of propriety. It was a kiss that the people of Messina talked of fondly for years to come.

The day dissolved into revelry, and Pedro and Balthazar were swept along from from one celebration to another throughout the city. When they ended back at the palace, Sister Ursula greeted them at the entrance, looking weary.

“Your Grace, Prince Stanley,” she said, bowing and nodding.

“Please, call me Balthazar.”

“Very well, Prince Balthazar. Pedro, I don’t wish to interrupt your festivities, but I fear we may need to take action with regard to your brother soon. Take the evening to yourselves, but tomorrow we must draw up a plan.”

The anger of the night before flared once more in Pedro’s breast. “Understood.”

She smiled, drawing herself taller. “Now. Go. Enjoy the evening, and we’ll speak again in the morning.”

As Pedro and Balthazar retired to the royal chambers, Pedro filed his thoughts of John to the back of his mind. He would have to think of it again, but at that moment he had other priorities.

When the last of the guard filed out and they were alone, Balthazar turned to face Pedro. “Would you like me to sing for you?”

“Perhaps later…I rather had other things in mind.”


	5. Chapter 5

Pedro’s next few weeks were quite busy, corresponding with various diplomats and less savory informers, trying to suss the whereabouts of his brother. Sister Ursula’s contact within the Order of The Cypress Bow, Brother Claudio, had so far proved to have the most useful information. He had been a confidante of John’s as a boy, and was thus more familiar with John’s tactics than most others. Claudio had assured Ursula that his best associates were working to find the errant Prince.

The search for John forced the newlyweds to postpone their honeymoon, so instead Balthazar spent the time settling in to his new home. He had converted one of Pedro’s studies into a chamber music room, installing his clavier and harpsichord among the existing sturdy wood furniture, and hanging his lutes and viols over the tapestries on the walls. He and Pedro had agreed that he would no longer act as ruler, either of Messina or Waiheke, a happiness for which Balthazar still had not sufficiently thanked Pedro. However, as Balthazar had more knowledge of John’s crooked dealings with Waiheke than anyone else in the palace at Messina, he agreed to act as an advisor in the search, which meant many meetings with Pedro and Sister Ursula.

It pleased Pedro to watch Balthazar and Sister Ursula become fast friends. He had worried that his new husband might grow lonely with no other confidante, especially as Pedro had been so busy, so he initially urged the two of them to become acquainted. He quickly realized, however, that with little encouragement, Balthazar had grown even closer to Ursula than Pedro himself.

One evening, a fortnight or so after the wedding, they lay in bed, reviewing their days together. “Ursula looked particularly tired today,” Pedro said, resting his cheek on Balthazar’s head. “I’m worried for her; she’s been poorly for a while. I hope she’s not growing ill.”

“She’s just been thinking about Hero too much lately. Dealing with the search for your brother has been difficult for her.”

“Hero? The great warrior Hero, you mean?”

“Yes, of course. Does she know another Hero?”

“I wasn’t aware she knew that Hero.”

“Has she never…? Oh.”

“What?”

“I…I shouldn’t say if she hasn’t mentioned anything to you.” He turned to look up at Pedro. “I’m sorry I said anything.”

Pedro chuckled softly and kissed the tip of Balthazar’s nose. “I can’t pretend you haven’t piqued my curiosity, but I love that you’re such a good friend to her. Perhaps she’ll tell me eventually.”

But she hadn’t mentioned anything, and so Pedro continued to worry for her.

Another fortnight passed, and the burden of searching for John had begun to fade from the front of his mind and sink like a stone in Pedro’s subconscious. He knew Sister Ursula oversaw the investigation more than competently, and she would apprise him periodically. Each time she gave him an update, the information was always the same: her contacts were optimistic, but nothing certain could be confirmed.

Meanwhile, he grew busy with other responsibilities, as the palace was swept up in preparation for the Festival of First Fruits. It was easier for Pedro to feel excited about those preparations than about searching for John, especially as he worked directly with Balthazar to plan the entertainment for the ball and its accompanying feast. Balthazar planned to perform at the ball — his first public performance since the wedding — and had curated a select group of performers to join him.

The morning of the ball, Pedro arrived at his study to find Ursula flitting around the room with a letter in hand, clutching her chest and weeping.

“Ursula? What is the matter? Are you ill?”

“I am well,” she gasped unconvincingly. “I have just had news.”

“Please, have a seat,” he said, guiding her to a chair. “Calm yourself. Take all the time you need. The news can wait.”

“No, it cannot. But I…I must…” She rose from the chair, pressing the letter to Pedro’s chest and escaping the chamber.

Pedro examined the letter, which bore a crimson wax seal that, though broken, he recognized as the seal of Sister Ursula’s former Order.

 

_Sister Ursula,_

_Our mission has finally succeeded. John the Wicked has been captured, and Lady Hero the Bold brings him to Messina to face punishment. They are set to arrive at the palace any day._

_I know this must come as a shock to you, but when Lady Hero narrowly evaded the ambush six years ago, she took the rumors of her death as an opportunity to pursue John the Wicked covertly, and a few of us in the Order assisted her in remaining hidden. I apologize for the deception, but given your relationship with her, we couldn’t risk telling you the truth, in case you were ever captured and questioned by John’s accomplices._

_I believe she is anxious to see you._

_Yours in fidelity,_   
_Claudio_

 

Pedro hurried to the ballroom, where Balthazar was busy tuning his clavier for the Festival performance. “Balthazar,” he called, breathless. “I don’t wish to interrupt you, but we have just received some surprising news. Read this letter.”

Balthazar looked up from his instrument, and took the proffered parchment. A series of emotions registered on his face. When he finished, he flung out his arms and hugged his husband tightly. “Lady Hero, alive? Gods be praised! I should love to see her again. Did I ever tell you that she was a mentor of mine as a child? And your brother! You must be…well, how are you feeling about this?”

Pedro held Balthazar closer and briefly reflected on the good fortune that had granted him such a compassionate love. “Relieved, but a bit apprehensive,” he murmured. “I haven’t seen him in years, and now I must decide what to do with him.” Pedro pulled away from the embrace. “But I’m worried about Ursula. She just—“

“Oh goodness! Of course she must be upset.”

“Will you seek her out? She speaks more easily with you.”

“Yes, immediately.”

The rest of the day flew by in a rush of preparation, and by the time the festivities began, Sister Ursula had reappeared along with Prince Balthazar. Her robes were much the same as always, but she had arranged her hair atop her head in a way Pedro had never seen, a way which beautifully accentuated the planes and angles of her face. Pedro also noticed a light powder over the dark shadows that had recently taken up residence under her eyes. Balthazar smiled at Pedro as he and Sister Ursula joined Pedro at table, raising those unpredictable eyebrows as a suggestion that perhaps Pedro should not interrogate her.

Prince Pedro stood to signal the beginning of the ceremony, at which point the citizens selected to provide offerings came forward, one by one. A family of four stepped forward first, the youngest child bearing an ear of corn, which they placed into the large bonfire. A stout older woman next, laying a sheaf of wheat among the embers of the fire. A couple, who placed an apple and a pear, respectively, next to the corn. And finally, another couple, whom Pedro recalled with a smile from the tavern during his memorable day in disguise, poured a small goblet of ale over the fire, which flared dramatically.

The revelers then began to feast. Pedro had nearly relaxed when the doors of the ballroom opened with a thud, and the ballroom fell silent as four people entered. In the lead was a small, sturdy woman clad in leather armor; behind her, two Waiheken guards holding between them a tall, thin, messy-haired man. The metamorphosis of adolescence had wrought significant change, but Pedro instantly recognized the ice-cold blue of the man’s eyes. Pedro stood to acknowledge the newcomers.

“John. Brother. You return at last.” A furious heat rose from his gut. When his brother didn’t respond, Pedro turned to address the woman. “You must be Lady Hero. Welcome to Messina, my lady. You have my every gratitude for retrieving my brother.”

“As a Waiheken warrior, I happily serve the just and righteous, Your Grace,” she replied, bowing curtly. “Shall I release him to your custody?”

“In a moment,” Pedro said, signaling for his guard to ready themselves. “John, have you anything to say for yourself?”

His brother sneered. “Merely that I expected no less from you, brother.”

“And by that, you mean what precisely?”

“You always were quick to anger. I anticipated that you would grant me only a cursory explanation, if that, before rendering judgment on my actions.”

Pedro took a breath, fighting to stem his rising anger — in that, at least, John knew his brother. “Do you mean to imply that you can justify your actions? I’m certain Lady Hero would love to hear why you were willing to sacrifice her security for your own wicked ends. And my Prince would be interested to understand why you toyed with his birthright and his very identity to aid your ambition.” From his chair at Pedro’s right, Balthazar took Pedro’s hand and squeezed it, a gentle calming gesture.

“Perhaps my methods have been…questionable. But you do me and yourself a disservice to assume my ends are wicked, my ambition unfounded.”

“Do you forget the wisdom of our parents, John? For a good ruler, methods are everything.”

“Will you not hear me out then, brother? Will you put me to death with no more than these few words exchanged?”

Pedro drew a difficult breath. Death by hanging was the standard punishment for treason such as that which John had committed, but this was the one point on which Pedro could not resolve. His brother certainly deserved to be punished, but no amount of anger or resentment could convince him to put his own brother to death. At length, he spoke again.

“For now, we shall continue our revelry, and you shall be escorted to the gaol. We will speak of this again on the morrow with clear heads.”

John nodded. “I…I have missed you, brother.”

Pedro felt tears rush to his eyes, and Balthazar gave his hand another squeeze. “We shall speak tomorrow,” he declared, signaling to the guards to take John away. “Lady Hero, will you join our feast?”

“Gladly, Your Grace,” she answered dreamily, and he now noticed her eyes were firmly focused on the figure to his left.

The food lay abundant and the ale and wine flowed freely, and so most of the party quickly forgot the interruption. Pedro’s duties as Prince forced him to put John out of his mind as he and Balthazar led the first dance, and when Balthazar took the stage, pride for his troubadour swelled in his breast, easily erasing the last of his bad humor. He also smiled to see Sister Ursula sublimely happy on the dance floor with Lady Hero. He made a mental note to ask Ursula if they planned to marry, and if so whether she would remain as his advisor or return to Waiheke with her bride.

At the close of the evening, giddy with food and ale, Pedro sought Balthazar and embraced him, kissing his mouth and forehead. “My lovely troubadour…Messina loved you almost as much as I.”

“Perhaps it’s better they don’t love me as much as you,” Balthazar smiled. “That might cause some problems.”

“I defy anyone to love you as I do. If it could be accomplished, you certainly deserve it, but a mere mortal would surely burst before holding any more love than I.”

“Take care you don’t overtax your frame then, love. What should I do if you burst?” His eyebrows danced.

Pedro laughed and kissed him again. “I shall only be safe from that fate if you allow me to hold you close. Come, let us retire.”

The following morning, the Princes woke to a knock on the door. The sunlight streamed full into their bedchamber, and Pedro realized that he’d likely slept through his morning advisory meeting. He dressed swiftly, fruitlessly urging Balthazar to remain in bed despite his wish to follow Pedro. They soon met with Sister Ursula and Lady Hero in the royal chambers.

“We must deal with your brother,” Ursula said as they entered. “You know what the standard punishment is. Will you pronounce the sentence?”

Pedro sighed. “I’m not certain I can, Ursula.”

“Balthazar could pronounce it, if that would ease your mind. He still retains his rights as Prince.”

“I…well, that is, I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with it either, Ursula,” Balthazar said, eyeing Pedro.

“Not even to aid your husband?”

Balthazar came to Pedro’s side. “Do you wish me to do that for you?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Pedro said slowly, sinking into a chair. “I need…I need more time to think.”

“Haven you not had years to think about this?” A thread of animus ran through Ursula’s otherwise calm demeanor. “What could more time possibly afford?”

Pedro thought for a moment. When he spoke, he addressed Lady Hero, a curious note in his voice. “His original crime targeted you, my lady. Do you believe he should be put to death?”

Lady Hero glanced at Ursula, then spoke calmly. “I have killed many on the battlefield. Far too many for my liking. But the code of the Waiheken warriors dictates that one should only resort to violence when one’s opponent is equally or better equipped for the fight. It would be dishonorable for me to condone the death of a prisoner.”

“Surely you could make an exception in this case,” Ursula said coldly.

“Perhaps I could, but I don’t wish to.”

Pedro nodded, contemplating. “Balthazar? You suffered as a result of his wickedness as well. How do you feel?”

“I want you to act on your conscience.”

“Forget my conscience for the moment. You have been wronged. How should the perpetrator be punished?”

“I…well, though I was in danger of losing much more, the worst I dealt with was a few hours of anxiety. I don’t think a man should lose his life over that.”

“Think of the other schemes and mischief, though, Your Grace,” Ursula spoke up again. “Mustn’t we protect Messina from him? Mustn’t we protect you?”

Hero put a hand on her shoulder. “I hope you realize you needn’t seek vengeance on my behalf. It won’t take away the pain of these last few years, you know.”

“Vengeance…” Pedro mused, then stood decisively. “No. It wouldn’t be right. We must find another way.”

And so it was that John was sentenced to hard labor as punishment for his crimes, and Prince Pedro became known as Pedro the Merciful, the ruler who abolished hanging to show compassion for his wicked brother.

Soon after her return, Lady Hero joined with Sister Ursula, choosing holy partnership over matrimony but doing so just as happily as the Princes had chosen marriage. Sister Ursula returned with Lady Hero to Waiheke, remaining a close advisor to Prince Pedro via correspondence but allowing Pedro to step more fully into his role as ruler.

She stayed on in Messina long enough for Pedro and Balthazar to take their belated honeymoon, however. They visited mountains and lakes, fields and rivers, even the sea strand where they stood laughing, hand in hand, one foot in sea and one on shore. Balthazar brought his smallest lute and composed odes to the scenery, and to various features of Pedro’s that reminded him of the scenery. Sometimes they slept in cozy cottages, sometimes in tents under the stars. Sometimes they didn’t sleep at all.

When the Princes returned to Messina, they saw off Lady Hero and Sister Ursula, and returned to their daily business of governance and music, respectively, with a renewed vigor knowing that each had love and purpose in their lives.

And they lived happily ever after.


End file.
